


Center Ice

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Use, Hockey, Is this crack?, M/M, Mention of Suicide/Suicide Attempt, Recreational Drug Use, erik lehnsherr apparently turned in to raffi torres., i can't tell, ivan vanko texts like evgeni malkin, so the Stanley Cup Finals fried my brain, with social media!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-16 03:29:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><span class="u">http://www.tsn.ca/tradecentre/</span><br/><i>The New York Avengers acquired C Loki Laufeyson from the Quebec Cabal in exchange for D Wade Wilson, RW Aldrich Killian, and their fourth round pick in the NHL Draft. "[Laufeyson] is a player who could greatly improve our physical standpoint," Avengers GM Maria Hill said in a statement.</i>  <b>Full Story.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> as always,i do not own marvel or any affiliates or associated trademarks.i do not own the NHL or any affiliates or associated trademarks. this is solely for entertainment purposes.

http://www.tsn.ca/tradecentre/  
 _The New York Avengers acquired C Loki Laufeyson from the Quebec Cabal in exchange for D Wade Wilson, RW Aldrich Killian, and their fourth round pick in the NHL Draft. "[Laufeyson] is a player who could greatly improve our physical standpoint," Avengers GM Maria Hill said in a statement._ **Full Story.**  
\---  
 **@NHL:** @NHLAvengers acquire C Loki Laufeyson Read:  ow.ly/m90FKl  
129 RETWEETS 75 FAVORITES  


>   
> **@cblfankitty:** LOKI! NOOOO! #laufeysontrade #nhltradedeadline  
>  **@a_mora(l):** good luck in New York, best wishes from your Canadian Fans!  
>  **@bettylovesyou:** can’t believe the Cabal would trade Lokes after all this time. Good luck in NY!  
>  **@s!lver_surf:** loki for wade wilson? we all know who got the better deal in the #laufeysontrade here…  
>  **@stormsue:** omg. Aren’t Loki and Thor brothers? Can’t wait for that epic teamup!  
>  **@flameON:** @stormsue they’re bros?! this’ll be good. feel bad 4 other teams, tho. lol #brotime  
> 

\---  
“FUCK!” he howls, pale hands fisting in ebony locks as he stares at his television. His hands tug a little bit, applying pressure at his skull as he squeezes his eyes shut, evening his breathing. A pink tongue darts out to lick at chapped lips, and he once more opens his eyes, bright embers of emerald burning as they flick between the television and the half-drained glass on the ottoman. It doesn’t take much to convince him to throw it, and he can feel the tension ease a bit around his shoulders as it smashes in wonderful fragments of glass and ice and amber liquid, leaving a scuff on his otherwise clean wall.

He brings his fingers to his lips, pads tapping an absent rhythm against the bottom of the two as he inhales slowly through his nose, trying to gather his thoughts. He swallows hard, and turns away from the droning of Wade Wilson’s overly-enthusiastic drivel, rolling his eyes at the other’s cliché quips about bettering himself and looking forward to playing with the new team. Ha. 

The only thing Wilson is going to have going for him in Quebec is Tony Masters, and even that might be pushing it. It’s a well known fact that the Avengers and the Cabal are rivals of the bitterest and most brutal sort. Even if Wade and Tony had been buddy-buddy in the midgets and minors, it’s not going to save him any trouble.

And does anybody even like Aldrich Killian? Seriously. 

This is what they trade Loki _motherfucking_ Laufeyson for.

He releases a short, sharp breath of frustration. His pale hands rest on his hips, digging in with blunt nails as he stares at the pale carpeting beneath his feet, a besocked foot tapping an idle, indiscernible rhythm. This was…less than ideal, admittedly. He’d made something out of himself here in Quebec, and was quite content with it – his home, his team, and his nights of glorious debauchery. Just when there’s enough breathing room, the ceiling caves in leaving him a smudge on the floor. 

He doesn’t have time for this. He doesn’t have time to pack up his entire life and just cart off to New York by the end of the weekend. He doesn’t have time to just throw everything he has here away. He doesn’t have time to reintroduce himself to everything he’d purposefully left behind, he doesn’t have time for this anxiety attack and he doesn’t have time to _answer that goddamned phone!_

Poison irises flick over to the thrice-damned device as it’s screen flashes insistently, the buzz loud against the glass of his coffee table, the tone starting over for what has to be the fifth time. He grits his teeth, managing dully to uproot himself from the spot to move to the device, if only to make it shut up.  
Warily, he slides his thumb along the screen, accepting the call and bringing it to his ear mumbling, “Thanos,” as a way of greeting. In return, he is granted an ugly laughter that causes his lips to curl. 

“Tough break, man,” he hears, Thanos’ voice gravelly like he’s been chain smoking since infancy, “hear you’ve been shipped ta’ New York.”

“You’ve heard correctly.” Loki tries very hard to keep his voice even, portraying a cool confidence despite his unfavorable situation.

“Good luck, fucker,” is what he gets, and more ugly laughter, reminding him just how much he and Thanos really, really don’t get along. He can practically envision the spittle spewing against the receiver, and he grimaces a bit, opting for a very professional “Fuck you very much,” before hanging up angrily. He stands there, stewing with the device tight in his grip, plastic protesting at the treatment.

The television is muted after the reporter reiterates the lack of statement they’ve received from Mr. Laufeyson on the trade to New York. They can all fuck themselves on rusty spatulas right now for all he cares. Thanos. The Reporter. The New York Avengers.

He needs a drink.  
\---  
 **@laufeyson:** Thanks to the @NHLCabal for all the good times. Looking forward to my future with @NHLAvengers. Good things to come(:  
153  RETWEETS 62 FAVORITES  
\---  
http://gossipcenter.com/sports/tony-stark-loki-laufeyson-too-hot-to-handle-860858  
 _Could the addition of notorious partier Loki Laufeyson be the straw that breaks the camel’s back? Manhattan already has to deal with Tony Stark, the New York Avengers alternate captain, and his outlandish behavior (Video: New Year’s Rockin’ Eve 2011), but with the addition of Laufeyson, the results could be disastrous in epic proportions. We all…_ **Read More**

http://sports.yahoo.com/blogs/nhl-puck-daddy/loki-laufeyson-thor-odinson-hardcore-hockey-204508403.html  
 _The New York Avengers announced today that they've locked up centerman Loki Laufeyson for the upcoming season. Paired with brother Thor Odinson, the duo has the opportunity to take the NHL by storm. Both powerhouses in their own respects, combined, this sibling pair might become the most sought out pair in the league. A look at stats alone…_ **More…**  
\---  
785-776-4841: brother! congrats on the trade _received 8:37am_  
taskmaster: tough break, man. good luck in new york. _received 8:43am_  
785-776-4841: look forward to playing together again. that hasn’t happened since midgets, haha _received 9:00am_  
doom: Best of wishes, Laufeyson. _received 9:02am_  
mephisto: ahh. Good luck, man. You’ll do great. _received 9:10am_  
mephisto: We should grab a bite before you depart. _received 10:16am_  
mephisto:When is that again? _received 10:17am_  
785-776-4841: when are u leaving for ny? _received 10:17am_  
magneto: I heard about the trade just a moment ago. When are you leaving? _received 10:17am_  
whiplash: ive heard about trade. when re you to be leaving((( _received 10:18am_  
785-776-4841: brother? _received 11:34am_  
785-776-4841: do u have a place to stay? _received 12:14pm_  
785-776-4841: i’ve got room at my place _received 12:17pm_  
785-776-4841: loki? _received 1:43pm_  
mother: maybe we can meet for lunch when you’re in town. call me when you have the time, i’m always available. i love you, rabbit. _read 1:45pm_  
\---  
Loki is very inebriated by the time he decides to take media calls. While perfectly sober, he’d thought it be good that he avoid the press until he’d cooled down a little bit, and had time to actually think about what he was going to say to them. In other words, not look like a total dick. Drunk Loki (he was convinced it was a totally different person) thought better. Why not go ahead and get it over with, he thinks to himself.

So, here he is, wasted at a quarter past two in the afternoon, on the phone with Fox Sports.

What is his life?

He’s honestly proud at the annunciation and clarity to his words. Granted, he’s had practice with being a drunken ass over the years, but he wasn’t really expecting to employ those talents any time soon. Especially not under these circumstances. 

It’s a brief interview, though Drunk Loki probably could’ve rambled on for hours about the color of his socks. That’s how he was under the influence of alcohol –chatty. He spewed some mush about looking forward to playing with the Avengers, delightfully avoided the subject of his (not) brother with ease, and had a laugh or two at his own expense. That’s a wrap, and they’ve got what they want to splice and throw up on the television as they please. 

Now he’s stuck in this house that seems simultaneously too large and too small, staring at the small calendar that sits on his mantle, emerald irises stuck on the large ‘FRIDAY’, knowing that there’s a game Monday evening, and before AM practice, he’s got to be at least partially settled in New York. The centerman swallows thickly, cuffing his hand gently around his throat in an anxious gesture, fingers tapping a fast beat on his jugular.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first and foremost, i would like to reaffirm the fact that i am not affiliated with the NHL. i point this out because there is mention of drug use in this chapter. NHL drug policy dictates that players are subjected to two random, no-warning drug tests a year, and because of the way this story is going to go, i kinda mesh and squish and tear up that policy. this is, after all, a work of fiction.
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> greg wyshynski is one of the writers for the Puck Daddy sports blog on Yahoo!. the interview excerpt in this story is very, very loosely based on one he posted with Logan Couture (for like, two questions). just pointing that out to avoid issues. i'm not affiliated with greg wyshynski, Puck Daddy or Yahoo!.
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> i think that covers all of the serious stuff.
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> also, i probably won't update this frequently all the time. i just kinda post when i have material to post.
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> hope you enjoy.

He wasn’t a wine drinker, save for when he was being a faux-socialite, or wedding receptions. However, the bottle of _La Forge Viognier_ , gifted to him on his birthday or some such occasion, was pretty much the only thing out of his collection that had been left out. Probably because he hadn’t really planned on taking it. It had a bold flavor that nipped at his lips, melon undertones brushing away some of the bitterness that normally accompanied drinks of the sort, and he’d decided that it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

Loki shifted a bit, tucking one of his legs up underneath him, watching carefully to make sure the light colored liquid didn’t splash on the carpet beneath him. Emerald eyes moved back to stare at the now blank walls, the corners of his lips tugging down slightly. It was only mid-afternoon, and, despite having the blinds drawn closed, enough light still seeped through to highlight the dust trails, illuminating where the few picture frames had sat for the past few years. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, massaging a bit with a heavy sigh. Packing had been difficult. Despite the fact that he knew he could still keep in touch with his friends, and that he would be able to spend time with them when the season was over, or fly out to Quebec when he had the time. It all felt like the rug was being pulled out beneath him. Loki had never been good with immediate change, despite the way his life has played out. He prefers having dominance over a given situation, so that he can see the plays and decide what move he can make to best benefit himself in the long run. 

He kept finding things that had belonged to Victor, whom he’d housed when the player had first come to Quebec. Victor had stayed for the better part of two years before he’d moved out, and still Loki couldn’t get rid of him. Not that he’d admit he was fond, or anything. Victor was somewhat of a toddler, in that he was constantly making things out of whatever he could get his hands on. Like the weird little man - concocted out of bits of plastic straws, a slightly chewed on eraser and duct tape - that he’d found behind the television this morning. It had been crafted, oddly enough, in the bathroom, during one of the parties that Loki held at his flat. The make-shift creature was a funny little thing, lopsided with poorly drawn facial features and one significantly shorter leg. He remembers, with a smile, that it had been modeled after Thanos, much to his mortification. Loki doesn’t deny the involuntary chuckle that makes itself known as he once more brings the wine glass to his lips.  
\---  
[Excerpt of Interview by Greg Wyshynski, 2010]

**When Norman Osborne traded away John Falsworth,jr. and Eddie Brock just under the deadline, was there a sense this would be a transition phase for the Cabal or that these were necessary moves for impending free agents?**

I trust Norman’s judgment enough. He’s doing what’s best for the team, in the long run. Working to make it better. Plus, we picked up [Victor Von Doom] and [Erik Lehnsherr] who are absolutely increadible. Lehnsherr is a good shot and he’s very intimidating. 

Losing Fallsy and Brock was hard. It was a weird transition, I think, for me, because they pretty much took me under their wings when I first got here. But they were moves that helped out team.

**Is Lehnsherr the ideal ‘hate to play against him, love him on our team’ player?**

He’s good at what he does. _[Laughs]._

You’ve pretty much always got be aware when he’s out there because he skates fast and hits so hard. It’s good to be able to have that kind of force working with you instead of against.

**When we first caught wind of you, you were making waves being the first Cabal rookie to ever score three points in their very first game.**

_[Laughs]_ Well, I meant business. I still do.

**That was two years ago. Now, you’re a star in the league, averaging a point per game, and have cemented your role within the team.**

It’s all very flattering. But I’m just playing the best way I know how. I love the game, and that’s what it boils down to.

I’ve made a commitment to them, to the Cabal, and they to me. I’ve made a home here, and I intend to keep it.  
This is my team. This is where I’m going to be.

\---

In the end, they decide to have a going away party.

Or rather, they decided to have a gathering. A few more Ativan than strictly necessary for social gatherings, and Loki _made_ it a party. After all, it was going to be the last time in a potentially long while that they were going to be able to do this. When you put it that way, it’s pretty easy to convince them to up the ante. 

Loki spends the evening with a fog clouding the edges of his vision and his world vaguely rose-tinted, people ordering him drinks left and right. He doesn’t actually know most of them, just hockey fans at the bar that were sad to see him go, if only because they think it’ll be the downfall of the team (it won’t, he assures them, he’s not that good of a player. They did fine before him, and will continue to do so afterwards, so bottoms up!)

He autographs a replica jersey, smile wide and eyes somewhat unfocused as they hoist the gaudy thing to its permanent resting place on the wooden planks that make up the bar’s interior. There are sloppy cheers and a drunken bastardization of “O, Canada” and Loki thinks that he will very much miss this place, and these people.

When he has to leave the bar, he wants to be unhappy. The toxic alcohol and Ativan haze makes that somewhat difficult, despite the niggling in the back of his brain. He just can’t find it in him to be anything other than happy, a drunken smile plastered on thin lips as he leans heavily on Victor’s shoulders.

He goes to say something, but all he manages out is a muffled “hmmm.”

Victor looks down at him and laughs at the attempted speech. “Frogs don’t go hmmm humm annnnt,” says he.

“Lutt-dut-du,” replies Loki.  
\---  


785-776-4841: did you ever find a place to stay? _read 2:14am_

_loki :Imn just going tp find a hptel sent 2:20am_

785-776-4841: got plenty of room at my place. you don’t need to do that. _read 2:22am_

_loki :ill tjibk about ot sent 2:25am_

785-776-4841: …are you drunk? received _2:31am_  
785-776-4841: …? received _2:34am_  
785-776-4841: you drunk? _received 2:35am_  
785-776-4841: loki? _received 2:48am_  


6 MISSED CALLS  
785-776-4841 2:49am  
785-776-4841 2:52am  
785-776-4841 3:12am  
785-776-4841 3:14am  
785-776-4841 3:22am  
785-776-4841 4:00am  
\---  
When Loki awakes, it is to Victor’s insistent prodding. Lazily, he swats at his hand and rolls away with a sort of grunt. Victor, however, doesn’t take the hint. He instead resorts to gripping the other’s shoulders, and shaking him.

“Loki,” he hears, the voice seeming distant against the rising nausea the named feels in his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut, and gives his head a little shake.

“Loki, seriously,” and here he’s rolled over, the bright light assaulting his now opened eyes. He squints a bit, eyes still unable to focus as he turns his head in the general direction of the voice. “You’ve got a flight in like three hours. You’ve got to get your shit together.” 

A hand rubs down his face, and it takes him an awkward moment to realize it is his own, his brain struggling to pull itself together. “If you insist,” he finally manages, voice a bit strained to his own ears. Victor only chuckles and gives him a slap on the arm, moving away enough for Loki to realize that they were in the same bed.

He smirks and rolls over, stretching his frame in a feline manner before he manages to sit up. Idly, he runs a hand through his hair, immediately regretting the decision. He could feel his features wad up a bit at the disgusting feel. He flexes his fingers at the feeling before he finally stands up to shuffle away from the bed.

When he stumbles across Victor again, he simply rears back and punches him solidly on the shoulder. Satisfied at the reaction, he moves on to the shower. Victor chuckles, because he understands. “You’re welcome,” he calls back, only to be answered by the sound of running water.  
\---  
 **@NHL** : RT **@laufeyson** : à l'Aéroport international Jean-Lesage de Québec. Au revoir Québec! Bonjour NY.  
 **@NHLAvengers** : RT **@laufeyson** : à l'Aéroport international Jean-Lesage de Québec. Au revoir Québec! Bonjour NY.  
 **@NHLCabal** : RT **@laufeyson** : à l'Aéroport international Jean-Lesage de Québec. Au revoir Québec! Bonjour NY.  
\---  
It’s three o’clock in the late afternoon when he steps off of the plane in New York. While he’s been through this airport before, he’s never done so under these circumstances, and he hates it instantly. The people and the noise and the awful smell of hotdogs. He crinkles his nose against it, glancing down at the ground as he begins to move forward against the crowd.

It’s difficult to get to where he wants to be with the constant ebb and flow of people. There’s just so many of them, circling like sharks on chum and it makes him anxious and aggravated. They like to touch and purposefully brush against him, and have no qualms about pushing him in whichever direction they’d like him to go. He doesn’t suppose they’d like it too much if he pushed them back.

He’s also fairly sure that the old lady now passing him just grabbed his ass.

Sometimes, he hates people.

He stops for three autographs and two photographs. He can’t complain, though, because most of them were children under the age of nine. He’s got a soft spot for children, loathe he is to admit it. So, the smile is genuine as the girl with brunette ringlets pulls at his inky black locks and struggles to pronounce his last name, rambling on about how he’s her favorite player, and she’s so glad he’s finally in New York so she can see him play in person because Canada is an awfully far away place.

He draws in a small, frustrated breath of air as he finally reaches the baggage claim. He’s got so much to pick up, and briefly wishes he lived in a minimalistic style, so he wouldn’t have so many things to have to tote around with him. Rolling his lips into a thin line, he traces patterns against the sleeve of tattoos that poke out from the rolled up sleeve of his oxford. Poison green irises watch as the various boxes and bags and cases are moved forward, keeping track of names so he’s sure not to miss any of his own bags. 

The hockey player hadn’t realized how absorbed he’d become in the mundane activity of searching and sorting until he feels a heavy weight on his shoulder, causing him to jump. He turns quickly to be greeted with eyes the blazing blue color of a summer sky, and he can feel his own lips tug down into a grimace.

“Brother!” is the only warning he gets before he’s engulfed into an uncomfortable embrace, practically swallowed by the other’s bulk, a few camera flashes like lightening in the background.

Ahh, yes. Welcome to New York.  
\---  
http://sports.yahoo.com/blogs/nhl-puck-daddy/will-loki-laufeyson -204531403.html  
 _Will Loki Laufeyson play Monday’s game with the New York Avengers? It’s not unheard of – players being traded and immediately throwing themselves into the game. But with the Avengers and Cabal’s extensive history, will the centerman be able to find a foothold in the franchise by 8:00pm Monday evening? We’ve caught up with…_ **More…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lutt-dut-du. That tiny exchange is The Frog Song, a cute little children's song that originates from Canada. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay. so, thanks to the draft and Columbus snatching up Nathan Horton, there is 3,000+ words below(:
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> i should note that i'm not affiliated with Perez Hilton. 
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>  just to go ahead and relieve confusion, the reason i presented the interview the way i did is because sometimes i feel like players don't necessarily have as much choice in the matter of trades as media makes it seem they do. it's being presented as such in Loki's situation.
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>  be warned, Loki is not conducive to conversation.
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>  admiral drill, an exercise in backchecking: http://www.hockeyshare.com/drills/drill.php?id=7.  
> backchecking: rushing back to the defensive zone in response to an opposing team's attack. in other words, when the opposing team takes the puck towards your goal, backchecking is your attempt to take control of the puck.  
> press-check: placing stick pressure overtop of the opponents stick; used to stop or control the movement of the opponent's stick  
> lift-check: a player lifts or knocks the opposing player's stick with their own, immediately trying to gain control of the puck. 
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> as always, not affiliated with the NHL or Marvel, nor representative of their actions or opinions. this is a work of fiction for entertainment purposes. 

**Voicemail (1)  
[Victor? Answer your damn phone! Send help. Immediately. I fear for my safety in the worst way. If I’m to die, and this message is my last will and testament, you can have that fucking walnut end table and the Kiss vinyl collection. [heavy sigh] But seriously, please call me ba—no, Thor. Thor! Just, goddamnit Tho—End of Message].**

\---

Loki stares at his luggage in contempt. It was haphazardly shoved in to the back of a sleek, dark blue SUV, no caution put forth in regards to what he might have actually packed. He tries his damndest to refrain from pouting as he crosses his arms, hoping like hell none of his expensive liquor bottles have been busted in the process.

He, in a fit of pure genius, hadn’t arranged any kind of living quarters before he’d left for Quebec. This meant that his only options right now were Thor and the airport. 

The airport has politely declined his plea.

At least, with Thor, he wouldn’t have to pay cab fare or waste time trying to familiarize himself with the layout of the city just yet. The younger lightly licked at his chapped lips, placing his hands on his hips as he quietly took in his surroundings, landing on the elder and his vehicle absolutely last. Drawing his lips in to a thin line, he gave a stilted nod before moving around the passenger side of the SUV and opening the door, defiantly ignoring Thor’s large smile.

\---

 **@perezhilton:** Aww! Brothers (and hockey hotties) **@laufeyson** & **@todinson9** reunite in NY _perez.ly/19sPis6NY pic.twitter.com/EwGD7XKB7w_  
51  RETWEETS 22 FAVORITES

\---

Loki hopes that if he glares hard enough, that his phone will burst into flames, or something equally as dramatic. As it is, that horrid picture won’t remove itself out of sheer willpower.

And seriously, how did gossip columnists get this shit so fast? This was only taken a little over an hour ago. He was surprised there were none in there of Thor trying to get his belongings into the back of his car.

The grainy photo of Thor enveloping Loki’s more slender frame is enough though, and, as much as he dislikes it, he’s glad that this is the only one taken.

\---

Thor’s home is much larger than Loki anticipated, the former having decided to take permanent residence in Manhattan. It’s a house –an honest to god _house_ –firmly planted about half an hour away from the Stark International Center and nestled next to a few other houses. Houses!

Loki is sort of pissed at that. It’s just a small tingle that rests under his ribcage, not big enough to really do anything, but enough he knows it’s there. After all, is flat was nice, for what it was. It wasn’t meant to be a permanent residence, as he figured that he’d probably be flopped around as much as any other player (though that was hardly the case). There was a bed, bath, kitchenette and fairly spacious living room. It was all Loki needed for himself. It’s all Loki could afford for himself, considering other expenses he had to tackle.

Then, Thor utters the words, “Father helped pay for it,” and is that a bit of pride trickling through his tone as he eyes the building?

And suddenly Loki _is_ pissed.

He pulls his lip dangerously tight, the color draining from around his mouth as he slams the door to the SUV, making his way quickly to the trunk to force it open and allow him access to his luggage. “Don’t worry,” he says through clenched teeth, sparing a glance to the elder of the two, “I won’t be here long.”

\---

Thor rubs his brow, staring down the hallway, towards the general direction of the guest room to which his brother has been stowed away for an hour or so.

Loki has, since Thor can recall, and perhaps before, had these inescapable mood swings. They drag you down in the current, holding you under. You just sort of drown there until Loki has the mercy to let you up. Thor tries very hard to stay afloat, tries to offer a life preserver to Loki, because he can tell the younger is sort of drowning as well. He had forgotten what it was to live with that, however. It’s been _years_ since Loki has been around, and the blond wonders if, perhaps, it was a bad idea to invite Loki to stay here with him.

His mother would’ve been disappointed if he hadn’t, though, and he’s not sure which is worse to live with. His mother’s all-encompassing disappointment, or the great and terrible nature of his brother.

He sighs and hopes that he’s made the right decision.

Thor does need to speak to Loki, though. He hasn’t lived in this house for long, and some of his teammates want to come over for a housewarming sort of thing. The fact that Loki arrived a few hours prior only intensifies their desire, and thus intensifies their insistency. Thor figures that requesting Loki’s permission before allowing them to come over on this night will make things easier in the long run.

He knocks softly against the wood of the guest room door, surprised as it’s opened almost instantly. He’s further surprised (though he probably shouldn’t be) that Loki already has the room organized to his liking. The dark haired individual offers him a languid smile, and it probably shouldn’t make Thor feel that bit of nervousness at the base of his neck.

“Some of the guys want to stop by. Ya’ know, to meet you and see the place…” The elder stumbles a bit over his words, the sound coming out kind of awkwardly to his own ears. “I just wanted to check and make sure that was cool with you.”

“Of course,” is Loki’s reply, and nothing more, smile like honey still stuck against his features.

Thor blinks a few times, before nodding as though to reassure himself. “Yeah. Uh, cool. Thanks, I mean.” He has an inkling of desire to punch himself. “They’ll be here shortly.” He stands a bit longer, simply staring at his younger brother, before nodding once more and turning on his heel to send out a quick mass text, glad his brother seemed to be on an upswing.

\---

 _loki: [attatchment downloading…] sent 6:42 pm_  
doom: what is that even supposed to be a picture of? _read 7:15pm_  
doom: . . . oh god. is that your ass? _read 7:16pm_  
doom: loki. seriously. _read 7:16pm_  
 _loki: HA. I HAVE MOONED YOU INTERNATIONALLY. sent 7:18pm_  
 _loki: you’re welcome. sent 7:18pm_  
doom:are you alright? _received 7:20pm_  
doom: lol _received 7:20pm_

\---

Loki sits against the black upholstered _thing_ that is supposed to be Thor’s sofa, legs splayed carelessly and a small piece of metal pressing uncomfortably against his side. He’s not really paying attention to any of the people conversing around him, instead looking at all of the framed photographs on Thor’s walls, head full of water.

He’s aware of his weight shifting a bit, the small piece of metal digging in sharply as the couch dips down to accommodate the new weight. 

“Who is that?”

Glassy emeralds remove themselves from where they rested on a black and white portrait to look at the source of the question. His eyes just sort of roam over the body, from the mop of brunette on the top of his head to the slightly scuffed shoes on his feet. “Hella,” he replies, as though that will explain everything. 

Tony frowns, looking back to the girl, and then to Loki. “Is that like your little sister or something?” 

Loki laughs, a short soft thing, removing himself from the sofa.

\---

The raven haired centerman softly sings The Black Crowes to the background of laughter, vision swimming as he lays on a bed that is not his own, in a room that doesn’t belong to him, in a house he doesn’t belong in, in a city he doesn’t want.

\---

 **@NHLAvengers:** GAME DAY!!! The Avengers take on the Phoenix Titans at Stark International Center tonight.  
56  RETWEETS 22 FAVORITES

\---

Much to the surprise of Coach Nicholas Fury, Loki slides gracefully on to the ice wearing his workout shorts and a long-sleeved compression shirt. The few players that were already on the ice in their practice gear seemed to huddle closer to each other like some sort of defense mechanism, talking like gossipy school girls. 

Loki curtly raises his eyebrow at the pulsating vein in the head coach’s forehead.

“Where’s your gear?” he asked, voice strained in indication of his short fuse.

Emerald irises flick up, to where his gear resides, some clever asshole thinking it was funny to hang it from the jumbotron in the middle of the arena. It was a prank generally reserved for rookies, and it irked Loki that it even happened in the first place, because he has better things to do with his time than figure out how to get his shit down. Like _practice._

He could hear the hiss of air pass through Fury’s teeth as he eyed the equipment. “This shit is not happening right now,” he mutters under his breath, hands resting on his hips in an oddly paternal manner. “Can you get it down?”

Loki refrains from snorting. Obviously he can’t, or he wouldn’t be on the ice practically in his skivvies. “No,” he says after a moment, once more eyeing the equipment, “not at the moment. Were it that I had more time, it would be possible. If you have any janitorial staff currently in the arena, they could possibly retrieve it now.”

Fury nods curtly, drawing his lips in as though he’s thinking. His dark eyes flit around the rink before he nods again. “Uh, okay…” he draws in a breath, stringing his thoughts together. “Alright. We’ll push practice back half-an-hour. I’ll look around for the arena staff.”

\---

 **@NHLAvengers:** Practice underway at SIC. Maintenance day for Ben Grimm. Scott Summers missing from lineup.  
37  RETWEETS 14 FAVORITES  
 **@NHLAvengers:** Loki Laufeyson will be wearing number 16.  
54  RETWEETS 18 FAVORITES

\---

The second time that Loki steps on to the ice he’s weighed down by practice gear and a short temperament. 

They start their drills with a basic Admiral Drill, and Loki knows Fury is just pulling out these kiddy drills because he’s never practiced with this team before. He’s not the first in line to go, and he didn’t expect to be. That position falls to Peter Parker.

The kid is fast, but his puck handling is a little awkward. He shoots towards the net, where Logan Howlett darts out of the opposing corner, bringing his own puck and rushing down the ice, Peter on his trail. Emerald eyes hyper focus on the two, observing strengths and weaknesses in the short struggle, determining the Peter isn’t going to get the puck away from Logan. Logan isn’t tall, but he’s thickly built, a physical force to be reckoned with and Peter just isn’t physical enough to compete with the likes of the former. Logan shoots the puck, much to Peter’s chagrin, and Thor pushes himself out of the corner of the rink, puck against the blade of his stick, and shoots down the length of the rink.

It continues like this, Loki watching like a predator to the background of jeering and jokes at the behest of the team. It’s all in fun, he knows. He was the same way with his...former…team. He doesn’t know these people though, so he watches until his turn, following Clint Barton down the ice.

Looks can be deceiving. Loki knows this, and uses it to his advantage at any given time. He knows that these players are looking at his lithe frame and doubting his physical capabilities. Let them, he thinks, lowering his upper body slightly to gain speed as he closes the distance to Clint. He brings his stick up, press-checking against Clint and persuading the puck in his direction. He smirks at the scowl on the other’s face, Clint lifting his stick to throw Loki off. Much to his dismay, Loki tucks his elbow in and shifts his body weight, a shove knocking Clint off balance enough for Loki to swipe the puck from under his stick and change direction, leading back towards the other side of the ice, Tony Stark taking his round to now chase after the raven haired centerman. Loki can feel himself frown as the other proves himself a strong skater, catching up with determination. There’s a stick suddenly slipping next to his, and it drifts over, trying to lift-check and remove Loki’s stick from the puck. Instead of allowing that to happen, he shifts his weight a bit, sliding the puck away from Stark and to his left, away from the latter’s body. Stark uses that space to slide the blade of his stick under the shaft of Loki’s poking the puck, and Loki can feel his adrenaline spike suddenly at the thought of so easily loosing the puck. He shifts again, moving the blade of his own stick behind the puck, using his height to push the puck forward a bit before giving it a sharp slap into the net. He calmly skates behind the net, allowing a sharp gust of breath as he moves out of the way to allow the exercise to continue.

Loki is satisfied, and he can see that Barton is pissed. He’s not sure what expression Stark is wearing, but he’s sure it’s probably similar. 

Is it wise to piss of his teammates the absolute first time he practices with them? Probably not. But he’ll be damned if he’s going to sit the bench for this game.

\---

 **POST PRACTICE INTERVIEW WITH LOKI LAUFEYSON** _[video]_

 _[an older man with a distinctive flat-top haircut and overbearing mustache sits down next to the lithe, dark haired centerman, who watches the other intently. the centerman sits there, grey Avengers workout shirt with a thin ring of sweat around the neck, perspiration beading just around his temples, fatigue dulling his green eyes. it’s almost obvious that he would rather be any number of places but there. it cuts to a blue background with a rotating image of the Avenger’s logo accompanied by brief theme music, and then it’s back to the two men, Loki now with a smile on his face.]_ “Welcome to AvengersTV brought to you by The Daily Bugle. I’m J. Jonah Jameson, here with our newest Avenger, Loki Laufeyson. Loki, who has just signed a three-year contract with the Avengers. Loki, today must’ve been a great day for you.” _[the older man, J. Jonah Jameson, shifts a bit in his seat, adjusting his khaki pants as he leans in towards Loki a bit, raising his eyebrow. the camera zooms in on the younger’s face as he works his mouth a bit, muscles in his jaw jumping almost imperceptibly.]_

 **LL:** “Uh, yeah, it’s been a great day. I’m proud to be here as part of the Avengers organization. I’m very excited to play with such a talented group of guys. It’s been busy _[here Loki laughs, but it’s sort of dry.]_ but I’ve been looking forward to it.” _[Loki shifts a bit, leaning away as J. Jonah Jameson leans forward. green eyes dart to the camera just barely, and then back to the reporter. he follows the motion by running his hand through slightly damp hair, pushing it away from his face.]_

 _[Jameson shifts a bit, sliding slightly in a vague giveaway to how uncomfortable the barstool was. he clasps his hands together, tilting his head at the young player.]_ **JJJ:** “You were a pretty coveted player. I know that there were a lot of teams reaching out to try and get you signed. What was it in your mind that decided New York was the place to be?” _[Jameson’s brows furrow, as if he is legitimately concerned to what the answer will be.]_

 _[Loki straightens his back, squaring his shoulders in the process. he mimics Jameson’s head tilt, perhaps unconsciously, but definitely in an uncomfortable way, if the apprehension crossing Jameson’s face indicates anything. Loki worries his lip a bit before he speaks.]_ **LL:** “Honestly, I think it was always going to be New York. In the back of my mind, I knew that. It’s an incredible city, outside of the rink – a place that attracts you in the best way. The people – the fans – here are amazing.” _[a smile stretches Loki’s lips, and Jameson nods, eyes glancing towards the camera, where a prompter no doubt sits.]_

 **JJJ** : “Did the Avengers switching from Division II to Division I have any impact on your decision?” 

_[Loki gives a short laugh, tongue poking lightly at his upper lip. Jameson curls his brow in curiosity, and, again, Loki mirrors his gesture.]_ **LL:** “No, definitely not. Division I means that the Avengers – _[there’s a sort of hesitation from Loki, and he digs fingers into his knee]_ that we – are going to have more games against Quebec, but it held no weight in my final decision. I just feel that the future is very bright for this team, and it’s something I want to be a part of.” _[his words are said much softer, lips drawing into a thin line before emerald eyes shoot back towards the camera, and then to Jameson, offering a bright smile. Jameson purses his lips a bit at the other before he returns the smile, giving a curt nod.]_

 **JJJ:** “Thanks for joining us Loki.” _[Jameson turns back to the camera, smile still in place.] “Loki Laufeyson, the Avengers’ newly acquired centerman.” [Jameson shifts a bit, gaze still on the camera.]_ “Next, on AvengersTV, an exclusive trip through the locker-room with Head Coach Nick Fury.” _[it cuts to a blue background with a rotating image of the Avenger’s logo accompanied by brief theme music.]_

\---

Loki isn’t sure how he feels when he learns that there’s a tradition before each game in which the players get together to have a meal. Of course, it’s not a new concept – he used to do it with the guys back in Quebec. He doesn’t know how these people feel about him, or how he feels about them, and that makes a difference. 

He ends up going, if just to appease Thor. After all, he does have to basically live with these people for the next three years – minimum. He might as well get on their good side while he has the chance. He doesn’t want to end up being the Jeff Carter to the Avenger’s Columbus Blue Jackets. 

It ends up being Stark, Barton, Banner, Thor and himself piled in to Thor’s dark blue SUV on their way to some local restaurant. Tony insisted on having the passenger seat so he could control the radio, leaving Loki shoved between Clint and Bruce, half sitting on Clint because of the compactness of the vehicle (with three decent sized athletes in the back it doesn’t matter that it’s an SUV) , staving off an anxiety attack because _people_. He digs his fingers into his knee, intensely ignoring the looks he can see Bruce giving him in his peripheral.

His social anxiety is only furthered when he realizes how much attention they’re going to bring on themselves. They don’t really mix in with the crowd that’s currently gathered at the place. It’s a nicer establishment, but the diners are more casually dressed. Because it’s a game day, and the players are not only representing their teams but the league, they’re required to dress nicer. Which leaves Loki in an eggshell oxford with an unbuttoned vest in a deep forest green, covered by a tan colored linen blazer rolled up to his elbows, and dark wool worker’s pants from Scotch & Soda – a.k.a, not casually dressed. He frowns and wraps his arms about his waist loosely, focusing on the back of Thor’s cherry colored dress shirt to keep from making faces at the people he knows are looking.

The interior of the restaurant is dimly lit, giving it an upscale and appealing aura. It smells good, like finely cooked meat and a hint of bell peppers, making his stomach suddenly aware of all of the calories he’s burned since breakfast. Obviously a protein shake is not going to cut it, and he’s actually sort of thankful that they went out to grab dinner.

The group joins the rest of the team at a large joined table in the back of the restaurant. Loki puts himself in the corner of the table, providing him plenty of moving room, Thor to his right and Stark deciding that he wants to flank the left, effectively putting him at the end of the table. Barton decides to sit across from Loki, Bruce to his left, placing him next to Johnny Storm, a fact he doesn’t look too happy about.

“You were hot shit at practice today.”

Loki turns towards what he assumes was a compliment, dark brow arched towards his hairline. His emerald irises rake over Stark’s face, eying for subtle hints of a lie or a joke on his behalf. “Thank you,” he finally offers in return, shifting his weight a bit. “You were okay,” he offers in return, face blank as he eyes the other.

Stark stutters, the flesh just beneath his eyes and at the tip of his nose reddening, much to Loki’s enjoyment. He allows a small smirk to tease at the right corner of his lip, amusement lightening his irises to a jade color.

“Asshole.”

Loki just offers a small smile in return, gaze turning towards the menu beneath his fingertips.

\---

He ends up with lemon water and some white sauce based dish. It’s not very heavy, which he does on purpose, because he doesn’t want it to sit atop the nervous flutter in his stomach for too long. He can feel Stark’s gaze on him, and, through his peripheral vision, can every so often see him open his mouth as though he is going to speak, only to think better of the idea, and shovel more meat into his mouth. Loki dutifully ignores him.

\---

**[pregame] [audio]**

_[background sound of the crowd like a dull roar, and the sounds of the players taking the ice make it difficult to hear the reporter]_

**Mary Jane Watson:** "Loki, do you have any songs that get you hyped?"

 **Loki Laufeyson:** _[laugh]_ "It depends. Today it was Cinderella Man."

 **MJ:** "So, the trade is announced Friday, you officially sign Saturday, finally arrive Sunday, and are now playing your first official game as an Avenger. How’re you feeling right now?"

 **LL:** "Uh, I’m pretty stoked. _[laugh]_ It’s been a pretty hectic weekend, but, this, right now, makes it worth it. I’m excited to work with this great organization, and, hopefully we’ll pull off a win to put a bow on the whole deal."

 **MJ:** " _[laugh]_ I hope so! We look forward to seeing you play, and good luck out there tonight!"

 **LL:** "Thanks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case you haven't noticed, i'm from ohio. and i'm super salty over jeff carter.
> 
>  
> 
> also, these would be the wool pants, in case you were wondering... http://pinterest.com/pin/293508100685427639/
> 
>  
> 
>  technically, they're children's pants. but, this is a work of fiction, and they're super spiffy. if they came in adult sizes, we all know he'd have a pair. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> loki is a fucking rollercoaster. and sensitive. and a little violent.
> 
> tony stark comes off as entitled. see above.
> 
> (just because you say you are friends doesn't make it so.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, again. i think this is going to probably come out as word-vomit. sorry, no beta(:    
>  also. minor violence, technically, i suppose.as always, no affiliation with NHL, Yahoo! Sports, etc. this is for entertainment purposes only.   
>  if there's any hockey jargon that needs elaborated on, let me know(: 

The thing that really solidifies the fact that _this is happening_ is the jerseys. 

The Avengers’ sweaters are a deep, cosmic blue with a pale blue gradient creating the effect of wings along the arms. The logo is a sharp thing; a deep silver, stylized “A” centered in the front, the jersey numbers on the sleeves and back, as well as the names across the shoulders, all the same color. They’re intimidating, especially when he thinks of the Cabal’s dark teal and gray, and because of that, they just seem so much more together. A team, and isn’t that weird, because now he’s here, too.

And now that he’s here, he clumsily finds his way in line, wedged between Johnny Storm and Kurt Wagner, watching as the lights dim at the end of the corridor. He shifts his weight on his skates, tapping his stick against his ankle. It’s funny, how in these moments, the world seems to fade away to nothing, until it seems like it’s just Loki and his own heartbeat.

_Ba-bump._

The tension that encompasses the hall is practically visible, shimmering through the air as the setting goes completely dark. There’s an unnerving silence, flashes of strobe illuminating people in the stands like phantasms.

_Ba-bump._

The drum beats of “Do You Think I’m A Saxon” start, and the line of players is suddenly moving forward, all strained shoulders and predatory swagger. All of them reach out to touch a bronzed plaque on their way out, and out of uniformity, Loki reaches out to idly brush the backs of his fingers along the raised lettering, eyes focused on the faraway American flag sticker adorning the back of the Captain’s helmet.

_Ba-bump._

It’s the first time he’s felt legitimately nervous in a long, _long_ time.

Sure, he still got nervous playing in front of the Quebec crowd. That, however, was more of his self-expectancy to perform at his peak; to perform the way these fans expected him to play. It was a small tug somewhere at the back of his mind.

This is a different ballpark. _This_ is like his rookie year, first game in the NHL. New faces, new places, different league. 

_Ba-bump._

From this distance, he can see the video playing on the jumbotron. Familiar and unfamiliar faces alike flash by, a highlight reel of the season thus far.

Loki takes in a deep breath, brows coming together lightly in concern. What if he is ill-received? He’s sure his bones would be ground to dust beneath the weight of their contempt. Hockey communities are tight knit, and they are perhaps still reeling at the trade. He is.

_Ba-bump._

Why does he care? He’s not here to please these people. He’s here to play hockey.

He exhales.

_Ba-bump._

Their opinions are the foundation of his stay in New York.

He can feel the familiar queasiness creep up in the base of his stomach.

_Ba-bump._  
 _Ba-bump._  
 _Ba—_

His skate touches the ice, and suddenly his world erupts in a burst of noise and color, draining away doubts and apprehension. He can’t help the wide grin that coats his features, bright emerald irises flitting around the arena.

His tongue pokes out to lick at his dry lips as he circles around the back of the net, following the other players in the confined figure-eight patter, cutting through the dark of the arena. It’s odd, being in this arena. It’s much more round, making the fans in attendance seem much more compact. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the Avengers’ mascot, a bald-eagle (he can’t even joke about it), making its way up through the stands, jeering and rousing the attendees. It’s loud, peoples voices an all-encompassing roar in the background as he finds his place in their straight line, waiting (not so) patiently for the video to end and the national Anthems to be sang.  
\----

 **@NHLAvengers:** First period underway at SIC. Watch Live! http://watch.nhl.com/Av97ylf70  
18 RETWEETS 61 FAVORITES

 **@NHLAvengers:** Starting lines: 34-6-16 57-13. Banner in net.  
22 RETWEETS 67 FAVORITES  
\----

It’s a battle.

A competition to be better, faster, stronger and smarter than the opponent. To always have the upper hand; to come out on top.

It is a biting and harsh game that grinds you down to the very core of your being in order to make sure you are the absolute victor.

This is precisely what makes the first period so infuriating.

When the game starts, both teams are in top shape. They’re fresh and ready and confidant, having had nothing to wear them out or wear them thin. At the beginning, it’s almost evenly matched.

Shots on goal. Penalties. Saves. 

It’s almost discouraging to leave the ice with little result – knowing that you are still on even ground with your opponent. 

It also builds a fire in the pit of your belly and the soles of your feet when you come back out. It leaves you with the brutal, instinctual need to dominate through blood and sweat and _goals_.

Only one team can come out on top, and the Avengers know this.

They look forward to it.  
\----

 **@NHLAvengers:** Start of the second. Score 0-0.  
14 RETWEETS 54 FAVORITES  
\----

It has been said that a collision takes one-fourth of a second.

One-half of one-half of one-sixtieth of a minute.

A miniscule, forgettable blip in the grand scheme of the universe.

Or the difference between victory and failure.

Saline rivers glide down the expanse of pale skin, dripping down past pitch-black eyebrows, causing a short, sharp blink to momentarily hide unnervingly emerald irises from the waking world.

Loki glides forward, a façade of gentle and graceful movement hiding the predatory and almost instinctual thrill of competition that twines through every muscle, ready to spring whenever the moment was right. He bites a bit at his lower lip, eyes focused intensely on the movement of the puck.

The centerman’s hands tense on the stick, his grip twisting and adjusting minutely against the sticky, upturned edges of the tape that grated against his gloves. He makes a short, fleeting note to re-tape when he again finds himself on the bench.

Chrysocolla eyes scan carefully as he slides forward along the left-hand boards, his eyes ever searching for the darkened jerseys in the sea of white that had advanced the net, glancing at the blackened disk that they fought for like chum. He could envision, momentarily, the grey-tinted skin and dorsal fins that guided them as they gnashed rows and rows of pearlescent teeth at one another, eyes like black pinpoints on the sides of their head, progressing forward against their kin without real direction aside from the smell of _food. Of the crease. Of Victory._

He makes to move away from the boards, spotting Thor and Barton pressing themselves through the crowd, towards the token that slid ever closer to betraying them. Number eight-nine’s slightly curved blade weaved through the sea of skates and sticks like thread, capturing the Loki’s attention enough that he almost didn’t hear the tell-tale _shick_ of cutting ice that generally signified a sudden change in position or direction.

 _One-sixty fourth._

He glances up, malachite sprinkled irises making contact with a venomous blue. His fingers twitch against the handle of his stick, shoulder muscles tensing in forewarning.

_One-thirty second._

White jersey charges at him, his upper body turning to allow his shoulder and upper arm to do most of the heavy lifting. There’s a slight bend in his knees that allows his body to dip at an angle for leverage. He takes in a sharp breath of air, filling his lungs instantaneously. His own upper body turns slightly and the whole of his being tries to shift out of the way, curling the corners of his lips downward.

_One-sixteenth._

The shoulder makes initial contact with his solar-plexus, every ounce of air leaving his lungs in a cacophonous symphony. The top lid of his eye meets the bottom as he squeezes them shut against the discomfort of an ill-placed appendage. He can feel the beads of sweat as they pool in the corners, setting just against his nose and causing a light, almost unnoticeable itching sensation.

_One-eighth._

He clamps tight against his mouthguard, thankful for its presence that keeps his teeth from grinding painfully on one another. The two are now airborne, a soft rush of cold air that would’ve ruffled their hair, had it not been sweat-damp and clinging to their skin as though it might fall out otherwise. Loki’s synapses seem to all fire at once, while at the same leaving him with nothing to grasp at. 

_One-fourth._

He can hear the goal horn sound as the sixteen on the back of his jersey makes awkward contact against the small area between the edge of the boards and the glass; that small ledge seems to meet in the middle with the shoulder trying its best to tear through his breastbone to the other side, never mind all of the internal organs that should’ve hindered the two from having a proper introduction. What good are they anyway? Dark-haired cranium juts back, helmet shifting forward slightly as it makes contact with the glass. His eyes open as he hears an unsightly grunt pass through his now parted lips, the weight that was holding him against the boards now suddenly gone. 

He paws at the ice a bit in order to get a little bit of traction, spitting out his emerald striped mouthguard, breathing heavily in an attempt to replenish his thoroughly cleaned out lungs. He rolled himself a bit, his knees supporting the lower half of his body, his hands balled in to sturdy fists as he plants them firmly on to the frozen landscape beneath him. His body bows a bit in the middle, not really putting up the effort to keep it ramrod straight as he tries to remember what it feels like to have his major organs back where they belong.

He can vaguely hear some chatter, though his mind doesn’t really latch on to it until he feels hands wrap around his upper arms. After an awkward moment of finding his sea-legs, he’s heft in to a standing position, leaning up against a slightly shorter individual. They stand there for a moment before progressing forward, his skates sliding lamely in an almost unconscious need to progress forward.

“Shit man,” and a curt laugh follow. Loki can feel the other’s eyes on him. “Are ya’ good?” 

The centerman’s head lulls to the side slightly, examining the other’s face until his brain locks on the name. Parker. His emerald eyes swim a bit, examining the arena around him; the screams of fans – sort of eerie in contrast to the concern that seemed to play on the lower level’s faces; the flashes of color – the scrolling LED tape that ran through the middle of the Stark International Center, its white letters sharp in comparison to the red banner that ran behind it. _Goal_. His gaze turned back to the other, a smirk playing on his lips as he was handed to the medical staff just off of the ice, muttering something about concussion tests as their grip replaced his teammate’s. 

“Great,” he grins brightly. 

He is led down the tunnel with laughter at his back.  
\----

 **@NHLAvengers:** Brutal hit on #16 leads to goal. Avengers lead 1-0 going on PP.  
18 RETWEETS 63 FAVORITES

 **@NHLAvengers:** Laufeyson led down the tunnel. No word on his condition, or whether he will return.  
21 RETWEETS 43 FAVORITES  
\----

Luckily, the raven-haired centerman is not concussed. 

He does, however, have a nasty cut along his left cheek bone, as well as across the ridge of his nose, that is hastily (though carefully) taped up, a split lip, and a brightly (see: painfully) blossoming bruise along his chest bone, despite the padding. This requires mandatory x-rays, which Loki promises he will consent to.  
Tomorrow.

He does not get to return for the end of the second period, instead made to sit in the locker room while one of the attending physicians, Dr. Richards, fusses over cleaning his cuts and gives a light examination to confirm his being allowed to return for the third.  
\----

 **@NHLAvengers:** Laufeyson returns for the third.  
22 RETWEETS 57 FAVORITES  
\----

When told to be acutely aware of his current physical condition, it is only natural that Loki seeks out the individual who thought it was clever to bust up his face – and drop the gloves.

A vicious grin plays at his features – emphasized by the coagulated-blood-coated flesh wound in the leftmost corner of his rounded bottom lip – as he twists his hands into the other man’s jersey. His fingers wrap tightly around the collar and he rears back, quickly shoving his knuckles into the other man’s nose.

It’s then that a sort of barrier breaks, like a bubble bursting, and suddenly everything is moving in a warped sort of real time instead of the odd slow-motion it seemed to be previously captured in. And Loki is slamming his fist again and again and again, lips pulled back in a snarl as he builds a steady rhythm. Because, perhaps, he has slight anger issues.

He revels in it, though – the feel of the other man’s cartilage bending unnaturally, the way it crunches lightly at every small contact, blood seeping out like slow drying paint, splattering across his own uniform as well as the other’s. He enjoys the way that the white jersey can barely make contact due to Loki’s flexible frame and onslaught. There is a fist in his hair, and he can feel it pulling, familiar with the sound of hair ripping, but he pays no mind, using more and more of his weight to bear down and make this man’s knees buckle before the refs can get to him.  
\----

 **@NHLAvengers:** Laufeyson sent to the box. Avengers on the PK.  
21 RETWEETS 63 FAVORITES  
\----

Thor doesn’t know how he feels about his brother’s spontaneous display of violence.

That is a lie.

He is perturbed by it.

It is, of course, a natural occurrence in hockey. He sees it practically every game, it seems – but, it’s different from people you didn’t grow up with.

He is aware that Loki can get quite physical, and that was part of the reason the Cabal scooped him up at the draft.

The last time he had actually played hockey with his younger brother was in high school. This means that fighting wasn’t really allowed, especially not on the scale it was in the national league.

Sure, he’d kind of kept up with the Cabal, if only to see what his brother was up to. He’d seen where Loki had been suspended for a few games, or where videos of his various fights would be put up on youtube, or when he’d make some highlight reel or another.

However, seeing it in person is a whole different thing, and he’s really not sure he could get used to it.

He wonders what his mother and father, who are undoubtedly in the stands as usual, think of it.

Stormy eyes giving a quick scan to the crowd, he bites his lip and hops onto the ice.  
\----

Loki is sat at the end of the bench, reduced to a uniformed spectator for the rest of the game. Much to his amusement, Fury seems a bit put-out at his display, though he doesn’t comment on it aside from basically telling him to sit out the last bit of the period.  
\----

 **@NHLAvengers:** AVENGERS WIN!! 1-0  
54 RETWEETS 67 FAVORITES

 **@NHLAvengers:** No practice tomorrow.  
24 RETWEETS 52 FAVORITES  
\----

“Lokes! That was brutal!”

It takes Loki a moment to realize that he is being addressed, and a moment longer to realize that the hand being thrusted slightly into the air, palm facing downward, is meant to be a sloppy high-five of apparent recognition. 

He curls a dark brow at Stark’s shimmying form before reciprocating the gesture, barely suppressing the grimace at the weird temperature difference of their sweat as it is trapped between palms. He curls his fingers inward, flexing them slightly a few times. 

“He deserved it,” he offers flatly.

Tony’s grin was positively sharp. “For messing up that pretty face.”

Loki blinks slowly, shifting his weight. “Of course.” His tongue pokes out, quickly wetting dry lips. “It takes daunting regimen to stay this beautiful.”

Tony allows a short chuckle before offering a retort, only to be interrupted by Thor as soon as his mouth actually opens.

Loki does not bother to suppress the wince at the boisterous “Brother!” being thrown his way, nor the contemptuous look when the words “mother and father are here,” pass through the elder’s lips. He clenches his teeth tightly as he shakes his head no, stilted movements pulling sweat drenched hair in to a knot at the base of his neck.

Thor, apparently, doesn’t understand this motion. “They’re outside the locker room,” he instead decides to inform, raising his brows slightly towards his hairline, as though this motion will convince the younger to want to be in their presence. 

“No, Thor,” he says through thinned lips, voice tight. He eyes the elder with poisonous irises, fighting to keep from shrinking in on himself and playing with the hem of his shirt. He’s a _goddamn grown man_. Piano-player’s fingers twitch with the need to do something. Loki settles with clasping them together and setting them on his lap.

Thor rolls his eyes, and the raven haired centerman has to fight the urge to _fucking brain him with a hockey stick_. “Okay,” he huffs out, followed by a curt nod of acceptance, “whatever.”  
\----  
 **[postgame] [audio]**

 

_[between movement and conversation, the sounds of the locker-room create a dull sort of clatter in the back ground.]_

**Mary Jane Watson** : Tony, you guys played a great game out there tonight.

 **Tony Stark:** Aww, thanks, doll.

 **MJ:** _[laugh]_ So, you guys had a pretty heavy trade the other day. How are you feeling about that?

 **TS:** Ya’ know, I was….shocked. I can’t say I didn’t see some of it coming, but the whole deal turned out to be much bigger than expected.

 **MJ:** What’s it like with playing without steady fourth-liner Wade Wilson?

 **TS:** Uh, well. Ya’ know, Deadpool was a funny guy. Great guy to have around. It’s weird not to have him about, but it’s great to not have to look over my shoulder the whole time. _[laugh]_

 **MJ:** _[laugh]_ Real practical joker, then. What about the loss of your line-mate Aldrich Killian?

 **TS:** _[prolonged pause] [sigh]_ It’s…ahh…ya’ know. It’s no secret that the guy was resentful about his position in the organization. It’s no secret that he didn’t like it here. Couldn’t find his footing. _[sharp inhale]_ I’m, uh – it’s good – good for him to have moved on and hopefully he’ll have more success with the Cabal than he found here. 

**MJ:** And new guy Loki Laufeyson?

 **TS:** You saw what I saw, sister. _[laughs]_ He fits in really well with the team. He’s one of those very versatile players – basically, he plays wherever a position needs filled. And he’s good at it. So far it’s been great. I mean, he’s only played on friendly ice like twice now, if you count practice. But it’s good, and I’m excited to see this team develop and take the next step.

 **MJ:** Alright. Thanks for your time, and, again, congratulations on the win!

 **TS:** Thanks, doll.

\----

http://sports.yahoo.com/blogs/nhl-puck-daddy/avengers-stamp-titans-204691423.html  
 _The newest Avenger, Loki Laufeyson, looks to leave his mark in the Avengers win over Phoenix. The centerman seems to have quickly found a niche among the team, and is out for blood. When…_ **More…**  
\----

Tony lets out a puff of air, running his hand through sweat-laden hair as he exits the locker-room through heavy oak doors. Chocolate irises give a brief scan to his environment before they land on the hulking mass with blond hair that was his teammate. “Thor!” he calls, waits three-seconds, and then starts after.

“Thor,” he says once again, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. It’s an odd gesture, considering the height difference between the two, “what time are we meeting at your place?”

The blond’s brows inch together, and he draws his lips into a straight line. “Why are we meeting at my place?”

“Uh, duh. Celebrating the win?” 

“Anthony, I do not –”

“Relax big guy, I’ve got it covered.” He flashes a camera ready smile, eyebrows inching upwards as though they could convince Thor.

“I don’t have time to get money from everyone before the liquor store closes,” he says weakly, knowing it’s futile; knowing what the answer is – will _always_ be. 

His grin only widens. “Tony fucking Stark, blondie.”  
\----

Loki does not like home videos. 

He doesn’t feel the necessity in owning them; never felt that awkward sort of sentimental nostalgia towards them, save for the two or three that he keeps packed away in his things.

So when they’re all packed in Thor’s living room, being drunk (and getting more drunk ) and generally celebrating the victory, it’s only natural that the hulking blond would pull out old cases of DVDs and converted VHS’ to show to the entire team.

Intimate things, like when Loki and Thor took figure skating classes to help them with agility. Thor quit taking classes around fifth grade, while Loki continued up through high school (Thor hates to admit it, but you can tell the difference when you compare their skating).  
\-----

[1996/01/15] [video]

_[It’s an odd, shifty video that has been converted to disc format from the VHS that Frigga originally taped it on. It shows a much, much younger Loki, thin frame clad in a dark athletic pants and a matching jacket. His dark hair is much shorter, curling slightly around his ears, and his face is lit up with a thousand-watt smile, directed towards the camera. His right, top canine tooth is missing.]_

“Where is your brother?” _[ a muffled female voice sounds from off-screen. Young Loki responds with a tilt of his head. The camera shakes a bit, and is shifted around to a forlorn Thor, clad in a similar outfit, slowly skating his way towards the younger. It’s obvious that he’s upset, a frown marring his normally over-bright features. Loki’s melodic, childish laughter rings off-screen. The video jumps a bit. Small, pale hands jut out suddenly, gripping the elder brother’s.]_

“C’mon, Thor. It won’t be bad. You’re a million times more better than I am.” _[ the young Loki on the screen looks so earnest, brows furrowing lightly in an attempt to cheer the elder, hands moving to grip forearms to give a light shake. He draws his lips in to a thin line, emerald eyes focused on the slightly taller blond. The on-screen Thor mumbles something. The person filming moves, adjusting the camera a bit, and Thor’s words are unheard. Young Loki gives a hard nod, and then squeezes Thor’s forearms, slight worry still creasing his brow.]_

“See, you’ll be great!” _[the on-screen Loki offers a small, honest smile to the elder as he casts a glance to the children gathered at the opposite end of the rink.]_ “You’re always great.” _[the video distorts slightly, cutting off.]_  
\----

Loki scowls at the television to the chorus of “awws”, ignoring Barton’s “I can’t believe you figure skated.”

Poison irises watch as the people currently taking up the living room dig through various videos, picking witch mortifying childhood event they should all view next. 

He takes a deep swig of the beer in his hand, properly finishing off the bottle.

“There are a ton of figure skating recitals in here…”

“Ha! You did a middle school talent show?”

“Why is this one titled _‘The Year Thanksgiving was Ruined?’_ ”  
Loki can’t help how quick his hand shoots out to snatch that particular disk, throwing it blindly.

“Why do you have a video of your own birth?”

“Oh my god!” It’s Barton again, now shouting, waving a disk around. “The draft! We _have_ to watch this!”

The draft, of course, would be the 2008 draft – the one the majority of the people here entered the NHL on. With the exception of Banner and Captain Rogers (who, despite his misleading baby face, is actually pushing mid-thirties). He, Thor, Clint and Tony, however, were all drafted 2008.

This does not mean that the video they are about to watch is particularly welcome.

Loki can hear himself groan. “Please,” he offers weakly, “let’s not.”  
\----

[2008/07/20] [video]

_[the camera pans around, taking in the view of the large crowd gathered and making it’s way to where the commissioner stands on the podium, flanked by a few other suited officials. He leans forward to the podium, opening his mouth to speak --]_

_[fastforward]_

_[there is an middle aged, asian-esque man standing at the podium, mid-length dark hair slicked back , accompanied with a sharp goatee , a wide grin on his face stretching his already long features. The stage lighting reflected sharply against the many rings he wore. The ticker-tape across the bottom of the screen announces that it is the eighth pick overall.]_ “The Florida Radicals choose Anthony Stark.” _[he steps briskly away from the podium, taking the offered black and red jersey. The camera pans to the crowd, zooming in on a younger Tony Stark. He offers the older man next to him a stiff hug, and turns to give the strawberry-blond on his right an obscene kiss, followed by a sharp smile. Younger Tony has slicked back hair, goatee a bit longer and a bit sharper than he keeps it now, and large sunglasses adorning his face as he makes his way onstage to be gifted his jersey. He takes the offered hat, but does not put it on his head.]_

_[pause]_

Barton offers a laugh. “Damn Stark, your hair!”

Tony offers a grunt in return, not really laughing. The year he’d played with the Radicals was a huge rut in his life, and if it could never be brought up again, it’d be too soon. That team is probably the worst he’d ever encountered. “Hey,” he says at last, drunken mind grasping at straws. He points an unsteady finger at Clint, “that was expensive fucking hair gel.” 

They’re mildly concerned Clint might rupture something.

_[play]_

_[fastforward]_

_[Norman Osborne is a curious man with beady, shifting eyes. he stands with hands gripping tightly to either side of the podium, as though it might slip away from him, or otherwise leave him standing uncomfortably exposed. His hair is brushed back away from his face in almost matted waves, accentuating his slightly sunken cheeks.]_ “For the fourteenth pick over all, the Quebec Cabal would like to select Loki Odinson.” _[there is cheering, and the camera gives a short pan around the crowd, resting on the visages of Thor Odinson and parents, before coming back to where Norman is standing. There is an air of confusion, palpable even to the current viewers. The cheering of the crowd dwindles, though doesn’t die out, and commissioner of the NHL makes his way on stage, towards a very uncomfortable Norman, who now has the podium in a white-knuckle grip. Commissioner leans over and speaks to Norman, inaudible to the rest of the crowd.]_ “Loki Odinson could not appear today, due to a previous engagement.” _[with those as his parting words, he exists the stage quickly.]_

[pause]

Barton whips around, only to catch the ass-end of Loki and the slam of a front door. “How the fuck do you miss the fuckin’ draft!” he exclaims anyway.

Thor frowns, glancing towards the door, and then back to Clint. “It’s like they said, Clint. He had a prior engagement, and couldn’t drop it.”

Clint frowns. “What could he have possibly have been doing?! I mean, you were there!”

Bruce leans forward and presses play.  
\----

“Odinson, huh?”

Loki can’t help the way his face wads up like a used tissue. It’s instinctual really, and that only makes it worse. “Sod off, Stark.” He combs bony fingers through his thick ebony hair, working out the kinks and curls that seem to have buried themselves at the nape of his neck.

“Ouch,” he says, sliding up next to where Loki is standing braced against the railing of the small porch. The centerman’s frown deepens, jade flecked irises remaining steadfastly glued to the city before him. “So what made you skip the draft?” Maybe he thinks it’s best to steam-roll over this topic. Maybe he’s a little drunk. . .

Loki tenses, still not glancing Tony’s way. “I don’t –”

“Thor said you had something else to do,” Tony interrupts, fueling Loki’s irritation, “a prior engagement. But that doesn’t make sense to me, because, let’s be honest, the Draft is like the most important fucking thing you could’ve been doing at the time. It is – was – the gateway to your career in the National Hockey League, and skipping it is basically promoting that you have better things to do with your time than go fuckin’ pro. Which is shit. I mean, even I bothered to show up, and that’s saying a lot. Because I’m Tony Fucking Stark, and I’m never anywhere I don’t want to be,” he flashes a sharp smile, fully aware of his rambling. “And Thor was there. With your parents. Which leaves us with either a) you fell ill with some horrible, debilitating illness, b) you were undergoing major surgery, or c) you’re a fucking liar.” He stops only to wet his lips a bit, pink tongue poking out slightly. “Let’s be honest. It can’t be option b, or you likely wouldn’t have been able to play that first season. They would’ve put you on reserve, and you would be rotting away in minors right now because of it. And it’s probably not option a, because you’ve got a basically flawless record and have never missed a game for any sort of illness. Which leaves, _ding ding ding_ , you’re a fucking liar, and I would like a real reason now please.” 

Loki is facing him now, eyes narrowed to sharp and dangerous emerald slits. “What makes you think, Stark,” and wow, his voice is as sharp and dangerous as the jewels in his irises, dropping an octave and dripping with a sort of back burning rage, “that you can come to me and demand any sort of explaination?”

“So it _wasn’t_ a prior engagement?!” he deduces intelligently, and Loki’s fingers flex and curl with a desperate need to have something within their grasp. 

“What difference does it make to you?” he growls.

“Because we’re friends.” Tony’s voice comes out matter-of-factly, because everyone Tony declares his friend simply is, and that’s the way it is and has always been.

“Oh, friends! Well then, Tony Stark, that changes everything!” The change from lean and vicious to mocking is a leap, and it makes Tony frown, chocolate irises scanning the pale face of the other. “Let’s have a seat while I spill my entire life’s troubles to you,” his hands firmly press against Tony’s shoulders, roughly shoving him into a deckchair. His pale hand is harsh as it grabs a fistful of muddy brown hair at the nape, pulling Tony’s head back, muscles in his neck taut. “Mayhap we can braid eachother’s hair.” His fingers twist ungracefully, and suddenly he’s close, hot breath puffing in Tony’s ear. His voice has dropped back down to it"s vaguely lupine tone, though it’s more like a vicious whisper now, lips pulled back over white teeth in a sneer. “You think, Tony Stark, that because your name adorns the Arena I now play in, it gives you some sort of entitlement. You think daddy’s money makes you something. It. Does. _Not._ You cannot simply snap your fingers and make it so. You do not _know_ me. You have not _earned_ anything from me.”

With that, he shoves himself away from the shorter man, the chair creaking slightly at the force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the avenger's jerseys are spawned from this: http://bleacherreport.com/articles/836975-the-50-best-non-nhl-hockey-jerseys-of-all-time/page/33   
>  the intro is inspired by the San Jose Sharks intro, like 2011. i don't really care for the Sharks, but "Do You Think I'm A Saxon" is kind of a bad-ass intro, as far as hockey intro songs go.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  also, loki is really...uh...fickle. and there are a lot of italics in this chapter. 


End file.
